Date: Thu, 7 Nov 2002 04:12:04 -0700
From: xykos@earthlink.net
Subject: Elaborate Lives part 1
Disclaimer: I do not know N Sync. This is a purely fictional story
created in the recesses of my warped mind. Any similarities with actual
people is merely coincidental. Nothing exciting really happens in this
part. I need to set up the rest of the story. There's nothing I hate
more than a story with no character development. Comments are welcome
at xykos@earthlink.net
enjoy.
Elaborate Lives
Chapter One
This is the moment
Damn all the odds!
This day or never
I'll sit forever
With the gods!
When I look back
I will always recall
Moment for Moment
This was the Moment
The greatest Moment of them all!
~ Leslie Bricusse
The ringing of the telephone awoke me from my self-induced trance.
Confused for a moment, I looked around wildly, not knowing where I was.
Why was I half naked, sitting in a pool of my own sweat? I got up off
the chair I was sitting on and the leather tore off of me noisily, like
a snake shedding it's skin. Above me, I heard the whirling of the
ceiling fan, constantly circulating the musty air in my office. My
office. I realized that I went in a trance again, writing my book. I
wondered what time it was, what day it was. I began writing at
midnight; now it was way past high noon. Wearily, I glanced at my iMac
and frowned at the time. I've been writing for 38 hours straight.
Suddenly, exhaustion swept over me and I collapsed back into the chair.
I closed my eyes for a second, and sat there, not even thinking. `These
sessions always take everything out of me' I thought to myself.
I sat there for a minute or two, doing nothing but running my fingers
through my damp hair, noticing that it had grown a little too long for
my taste. Not that I don't like long hair, I love it, but my hair
doesn't grow long; it grows out. In a weeks time, I'll have an afro to
deal with. Just another chore to do, one of many that I've been putting
off for my work. I can't help it. I didn't want to follow the path of
all the other authors who became one hit wonders. I wanted my sophomore
session to be just as good, no, better, than the first. Thinking about
my book, I began to wake up again and I wanted to continue the project.
Who needed breaks, food or water? I was doing what I loved to do; how
many people can say that about their lives? I reread the last couple of
paragraphs to get my bearings and began typing. Five words into it and
I was reminded of the thing that woke me from my trance. The phone
began to ring. Sighing heavily, I saved my page and tore myself from
the chair again, making a mental note to buy something non-leather for
the office.
"Hello?" As soon as I picked up the phone, I knew that it would be
Benny, my agent. Sure enough, I was greeted with his high pitched
screeching voice.
"Where the hell have to been, Alex!" Benny screamed so loud that I heard
him even with the phone an arms length away. "You should really invest
in an answering machine and stop wasting my time! I've been calling for
ten hours now!"
Bracing myself, I pulled the phone back to my ear. "I'm here now,
Benny. What's up?"
"Ten hours, Alex. Ten hours. No `I'm sorry, Benny,' `you're time is
important, Benny,' no, of course not. Just a `what's up?" I sighed.
"What's up, Benny."
There was a pause on the other end. I knew Benny was fuming, but he
knew I wouldn't apologize for something like not picking up the phone.
After a while, he said, "Dreamworks wants to buy the rights to
"Paradise."
Now I was speechless. How was this possible? "Excuse me?"
Benny, still perturbed, responded very blandly. "Spielberg want a
meeting with you on Monday. I went ahead a got you on the red eye to
L.A. You can pick up the tickets at my Denver office. I won't be
there, but talk to Shirley." No response from me. "Alex, you there?"
Meekly, I said "yes."
"Do you understand?"
"Yes. Pinch me would . . ." But Benny had already hung up. God, he
was so moody, I thought. I looked back at the computer and decided to
turn it off. I would never be able to concentrate on work now. I had a
meeting to get to in L.A.
* * * * * *
"Mr. Goodman? Mr. Spielberg will see you now."
I dropped my tie that I was playing with and stood, giving the secretary
a nervous smile. Going through the door she pointed at, the first thing
that hit me was the view from the office. You could see half of
downtown L.A. from this vantage point. Very nice. The rest of the room
was impressive, also. Very intimidating. Rosewood bookshelves lined
the walls and various awards adorned the room. In the middle of the
room, behind the huge rosewood desk, sat . . .
"Mr. Goodman, sorry to keep you waiting, please have a seat." I was in
the same room as Steven Spielberg. My lead feet would not move. I just
stood there with a stupid grin on my face. He smiled back, a forlorn,
weak attempt of a smile saying that he went through this star-struck
thing before and was tired of it. I moved toward the chair and extend
my hand.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Spielberg." He gave me a weak hand shake and
motioned towards the chair again. This time I sat.
Immediately, he got down to business. "Mr. Goodman, this is a highly
unusual situation for me. Usually, when I want to get the rights to
something, my people handle everything and it proceeds quite smoothly.
That did not happen in this case."
I grinned a little. So, I was putting the great director out. My
embarrassing first impression was fading fast. I remembered why I put
the special clause in my contract with Random House. It was because I
didn't want arrogant pricks like him to ruin my baby. Spielberg sounded
perturbed that we were even having this conversation. I was wasting his
precious time. he looked at me arrogantly and waited for a response. I
gave him the well rehearsed speech I delivered to Random House.
"Yeah, I didn't want anyone sign off something that I've worked so hard
on and have it ruined. I wanted full custody of the rights, and, well,
Random House agreed."
Spielberg smiled a little. "How much did that cost you?"
I smiled back. "Half a million," I said without a grimace. It was
worth every penny.
Spielberg moved forward. "Well, I have the papers here to sign. I want
to get started right away. We already have a working screenplay and
half the cast lined up. All we need is your signature and we're all
set." He pushed a stack of papers toward me. I politely pushed them
back. Spielberg dropped the smile immediately.
"I didn't put that clause in my contract just so I could get free trips
and meet people like you, Mr. Spielberg. I need to know a little more
before I release the rights."
A blank stare greeted me. Clearly, Spielberg was not amused. After
what seemed to be a century filled with the awkward silence I decided to
make a venture. "Who do you have lined up for the cast."
Spielberg sighed, realizing this wasn't going to be an easy deal. He
reached into his desk and pulled out a paper. This time I took it.
I could not believe my eyes. All these people that I admired wanted to
work on my story. Glenn Close as Tammy, Christina Ricci as Sarah, Josh
Brower as Cody. But Travis, the lead, was played by . . .
"Who's James Bass?"
The famous director glanced at his watch. I was holding him up for an
important meeting, no doubt. Not that I cared. I hated rude people,
and I was planning on stretching this meeting to it's breaking point.
Spielberg replied. "James Bass? Lance Bass?" I gave him a confused
look. Why did he give me another name? "*N Sync? Space?" It hit me
then. The boy band member who just came back from space. I groaned
inwardly.
"And he'll play the lead?"
"Yes." All facades had dropped by now. He did not even try to be
pleasant. I decided to move on, but would come back to address the
situation again. I would not have "Edge of Paradise" be associated with
some teeny bopper crap. But I let it go for a while.
"And you said there was a screenplay."
Reaching in the desk again, he pulled out about fifty pages. I flipped
to the back and saw what I had to see. "Is this the final version?"
"Yes."
"No changes?"
"No changes."
I got my answer. I stood up, "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting with
you Mr. Spielberg." Extending a hand he didn't take, I was ready to
leave.
"What's wrong with the deal, Mr. Goodman?" he asked angrily. "Is it
because of James? The script? What?"
I looked at him. "James isn't the biggest problem I have with this.
You changed my ending." Spielberg looked at me, stunned.
"Alex, nobody's going to want to watch a movie where a 5 year old boy
gets beaten to death. Nobody's going to watch their favorite boy band
singer jump off a cliff."
I knew that was coming. "If nobody wants to watch that, why do you want
to make it?"
Again, the blank stare. "Because it's a great story, Alex," he finally
answered. "That's why I'm going through all of this trouble to get it.
It's a great story, besides the ending." He gave me a half smile and
motioned towards the contract.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Spielberg." I turned to leave. Halfway
to the door he called to me.
"I'll double the asking price."
I looked at him, appalled. "Take a look at my contract with Random
House, Mr. Spielberg. This has never been about the money." And with
that I left.
* * * * * *
"Hello, Benny." I was packing up my things in the hotel. I decided not
to stay in L.A.; I wanted to get the hell out of this town. When the
phone rang, I knew instantly that my agent had heard and was probably
furious.
"You don't understand what it takes to make it in Hollywood, do you
Alex." Benny seemed rather calm, considering he lost a sizable
commission from me, twice. He acted like my friend, but when it came
down to it, it was all about the money. First I take a pay cut for my
stupid deal and now this.
"Well, maybe I don't want to make it in Hollywood." I was getting
agitated myself. If I had an agent who understood what I wanted, I
wouldn't have to go through this.
"Alex, Spielberg called Random House." Ouch. I cringed at the thought
of losing my publishing contract over something like this. "They
understand you're case, but they want this movie made. Make a deal,
Alex. Go back to Spielberg and make a deal."
"Or what?" But I didn't need an answer. I already knew it.
* * * * * *
This time I waited even longer in his waiting room. I wasn't nervous
this time. With a clear head, I began to think, and I decided that I
would rather lose the contract and never have anything published again
then have my story changed. The secretary grabbed my attention and
motioned towards the door.
This time there was someone else in the room. He stood to greet me,
Spielberg did not. I shook the man's hand, sizing him up. Brown hair,
spiked up a little. About 5'10", just like me, and probably my build,
too, slim with a slight showing of muscle. His eyes caught my
attention, sparkling emeralds in a sea of alabaster white. If I met him
in any other circumstance, I would be swooning, making a complete ass of
myself. Instead, I gave him a puzzled look, not understanding why he
was here. I took my seat and stared at Spielberg, the man beside me
soon forgotten.
"Have you heard of compromises, Alex?" Spielberg asked. This time I
gave him a blank stare. After a moment, the man next to me began to
fidget, uncomfortable with the silence. Spielberg spoke again. "Here's
what we'll do. First, I take your ending; you write the screen play."
A shocked look appeared on my face. Surely he couldn't expect me to
write something as time consuming as a screen play. I had my next story
to write. I began to shake my head, ready to reply when he interrupted.
"I'm not going to have you read the script and request revision after
revision because you don't like it. You're going to write it. Random
House will wait for the next book."
Random House. He had me there. There was nothing I could do. "You
said first? What's second?"
At this point, Spielberg looked at the man sitting beside me. "Alex
Goodman, meet James Bass."
"Please, just James." he said with a slight southern accent. I started
at him and looked back at Spielberg.
"I want him to play this part. He's a perfect fit for Travis."
Spielberg said. "And you two are going to get to know each other. If
you don't want him, I want a good reason why you don't. His being in a
boy band isn't good enough."
My mouth hung open. I looked back at James, a nervous smile playing on
his lips. Spielberg sat back in his chair.
"For the next 24 hours, you two are going to be the best of friends. Or
else."
To be continued . . .